Divine Judgment- the Divine Chronicles #3

by JoAnna Grace

  ***

  DANTE STOOD AT attention, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes straight ahead. In front of him, Xavier paced as usual. The man was incapable of standing still, a nervous habit thankfully not passed down.

  Finally convinced that he needed to hear Dante’s full accounts of the last few days, Xavier cornered him in the billiards room the next morning, the same room Lady Dynasty had pulled him aside in not long ago. Her message had been clear; be sure of your choices and get ready to deal with the consequences, good or bad.

  Dante had made up his mind, and his loyalties, he knew, were in the right place. Too bad that place was not where his father wanted them to be.

  “Avery picked you from the crowd, you say?” Xavier rubbed the salt and pepper hair on his chin.

  “Yes, sir,” Dante answered with crisp words. He hesitated to reveal too much to his father.

  Xavier had been with the Avondales for the majority of his long life. As soon as Ashton was born, he asked to be assigned to the child. From that day forward, the Prince hadn’t made a move without Xavier’s knowledge.

  Given the fact that Ashton’s sister was a murderer, Dante was apprehensive about revealing things about the Castilles. Some events were common knowledge and there was no use lying about them.

  “And you said you know for a fact Salina planted suicidal thoughts into the woman?” Xavier narrowed his eyes at his son.

  “Yes, Father. I know what I sensed.”

  “Could you have been mistaken?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure you are capable of sheltering another person with touch? You’re not making this up?”

  “Of course not.” This was bordering on insulting and Dante’s blood pressure rose with every doubting question. Did his father think he was a complete imbecile?

  Xavier shook his head, unbelieving of his son’s tale. “Your powers are young, still developing. Are you absolutely positive—”

  “Yes, Father,” Dante insisted, tired of the onslaught of questions. The Master Thracian and a room full of seasoned soldiers believed him. Hell, the Grand Deity believed his testimony. Why was it so damned difficult for his own father to have a little faith in him?

  “Do not take a tone with me, soldier.” Xavier faced him, puffed out his chest. “I have the authority to ask such questions and you will answer them without attitude. Remember, I am a general and you are not.”

  Dante relaxed his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. Xavier’s nostrils flared at his sudden change of stance and the utter lack of respect he showed. If a pissing match was to take place, Dante was ready. He had spent all night praying for Ares to give him the strength and words to properly deal with Xavier. If his father wanted to ignore their biological relationship, he could too.

  He remembered the way Ryse had put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “You are one of my Elites, apprentice or otherwise. Avery chose you by direction of the gods and now you stand out, independent from other Thracians. Remember that, my brother. You are no ordinary soldier any longer.”

  With those words firmly embedded in his mind and heart, Dante leveled his gaze at his father. “You are correct. I have not earned the title of general. However, I have earned the title of Elite and am now directly under the authority of Master Ryse. I don’t fall into the military hierarchy, but rather stand independently. How did Ryse put it, oh yes—above it.”

  The haughtiness faded from Xavier’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. As an Elite, I can answer you how I please or choose to ignore you altogether. Although I would prefer to be civil about this.”

  Xavier’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and he took an involuntary step back. Ripples of rage and power poured from his aura, the heat and energy of their waves rattling the pictures on the walls.

  Dante’s message had not been well received. Being inducted into the Elites was all some Thracians strived for their entire careers. Elites were revered and respected, the cream of the Thracian crop. Although he would never admit it, Xavier had once idolized them and strived to join their ranks, to have the ultimate power and title of a Thracian Elite. Only being Master could be a greater honor.

  “You’re lying,” Xavier said, practically foaming at the mouth with bitterness. “Like you’re lying about Salina. Why the hell should I believe a word you say? You’ve been nothing but one disappointment after another.”

  Dante motioned his arm towards the door. “We can go find Ryse together, if you wish. I’m sure he will happily set the record straight, as will any of the Elites.”

  “That is the problem with the Elites. Ryse takes these random soldiers and gives them freedom to run amuck, obeying no one, answering to no one. Those men have no honor, no sense of loyalty. They are renegades, not warriors. Nothing more than killers for hire. Some of them are not even of Thracian blood at all. You should examine your priorities.”

  “We answer to Master Ryse and we answer to the Grand Deity.”

  “Convenient, since the Grand Deity is dead,” Xavier sneered as he kept his pacing. But his ego had deflated a fraction.

  Dante kept his eyes focused just above the man’s head. “Yes, tragically, thanks to the sister of the man you serve. Perhaps it is not me who needs to examine priorities?”

  Xavier backhanded Dante. The swing was so fast, so hard, that it stunned them both. Xavier had reacted too quickly to control his strength.

  “I will not allow you to speak ill of Prince Ashton. He has been more of a son to me than you have.”

  Dante slowly turned his head back to his father, touching the stinging place on his cheek, and his fingers came away red and slick with blood. That didn’t stop him from asserting himself. It was past time for this confrontation. Xavier had voiced what Dante knew all along. Ashton was the powerful son he’d always wanted.

  “And I will not let you speak ill of Master Ryse or his Elites. They are far closer to being family than you ever were.”

  “If your mother heard you say that…” Xavier shook his head. “What a disappointment you’ve become, Dante.”

  “Only to you. My Master and my mistress think differently. So does my mother, not that you’ve ever cared to ask her.” That fact gave him the courage to face down his father. Avery valued him, loved him. Ryse accepted him into the Elites with no questions, no hesitation. His beloved mother sent him letters nearly every month, speaking of her love and pride. That was all he needed. Xavier’s expectations were never going to be met and Dante’d accepted that long ago.

  Xavier huffed; his expression was an ugly mask of blatant disgust. “And you think Ryse will keep you around now that his Grace is dead? Don’t you comprehend, you daft child; you were merely her play thing. Your talents will be of no use to the Master Thracian.” He laughed and raised a brow, thinking he’d found a wound to salt.

  His victory was short-lived. Dante nodded, pursed his lips, and walked up until he was eye-to-eye with his father.

  “I’ve already proven you wrong, and you’re too daft to see it. If you will excuse me, General, I have an Elite meeting to attend. I’m sure you will get the notes later.” Dante walked out of the room and left his father to stew with his rage. The satisfaction in his gut was well worth the wait. After all these years, he had not only lived up to being the best soldier he could, he had surpassed even Xavier’s expectations.

  Brenden met Dante in the hall on the way to their meeting. Bren’s eyes zeroed in on the line of broken flesh and blood.

  “Where the hell did you get that?”

  Dante touched his cheek, but shrugged it off. He did not want to make more of this than there was. “Minor disagreement with General Xavier.”

  “General? Not your father?” Bren asked, examining Dante.

  Yankee approached them and grabbed Dante’s chin, turning it to see the gash. The man had no concept of personal space.

  Dante ignored him and answered Bren’s query. “Yes. It seems f
amilial ties don’t take precedence to military rank.”

  Yankee’s smug grin grew. “Did you pull the Elite card? Bet that pissed him off. Fucker. He drew blood.”

  The three of them continued down the hall to the conference room Hammon had specified. Dante shrugged again, uncomfortable with the conversation. “He was not pleased.”

  Philippe joined the parade and rattled off in Italian, pointing to Dante’s face. Great, another mother hen.

  “English, man. Speak in English.” Yankee rolled his eyes.

  “Your faccia?” Philippe spoke to Dante and ignored Yankee, like most of the men did.

  “General Xavier,” Dante said.

  Philippe went off on a tirade in Italian. Dante knew just enough to catch something about killing Xavier, or hacking off his balls, something to that effect. He hadn’t known Philippe long and his Italian was rusty, so he could pick out basic words.

  “English, jackass,” Yankee spit out. “We no speak-ah de Italian-ah.” He punctuated the words with pretend sign language that looked more like gang signs. One of these days, Yankee was going to piss off the wrong person and said person was going to give him the ass beating of a lifetime. Dante hoped like hell he was there to watch.

  Philippe shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing around his ears. “Eh, idiots.” He opened the door where Cutter and Hammon waited.

  “Oh, that you can say in English?” Yankee muttered and closed the door behind them.

  Bren and Dante exchanged a glance. Philippe could speak English fluently most of the time. He simply spoke Italian around Yankee to irritate him.

  They gathered around the table and took their seats. Hammon stood at the head and examined them all. He was so tall and thin he could be mistaken for fragile. Dante knew better. Underneath his baggy black leather jacket was lean muscle. Hammon was a hell of a fighter and the best tracker in this realm. His skin was black as night and blended with the black clothing he favored.

  Hammon’s dark eyes scanned the men and damned if they didn’t land on him. Dante froze in his seat, hoping if he avoided eye contact nothing would be said.

  “Let me guess; I should see the other guy?” Hammon teased with a slight smile.

  “Minor disagreement with my fa—General Xavier, sir.” Dante’s jaws clenched, his cheeks blazed. Respect for Hammon ran deep; he was not a man to disappoint. Dante had been raised with legends of his greatness.

  Hammon took in a deep breath and clasped his hands in front of him. Expectant. Patient. He didn’t have to speak; he didn’t have to voice a question. His expression alone prompted Dante to spill. Hammon had that effect on people.

  “The general seems to think the Elites are running amuck, answering to no one and having no loyalty nor honor. I set him straight and he was offended.”

  Men began to complain until Hammon held up his hand. He continued to stare at Dante, somehow knowing there was more. There was no use trying to get anything past him.

  After a moment, Dante finally sighed. “He also thinks that Master Ryse will kick me out now that I’m not Avery’s play thing.”

  “You were Avery’s play thing?” Yankee’s brows rose on his forehead. “Nice job, Ken Doll.”

  “Shut it,” Dante warned.

  Hammon crossed his arms over his chest, reached up to touch his chin. “I assume you put him in his place?”

  Dante nodded and pointed to his cheek. “I’d say he heard me.”

  “Did you strike him in return?”

  “Only his ego, sir. That hurt him bad enough, I assure you.”

  Cutter, Yankee, Philippe, and Hammon exchanged looks. He could only imagine what that was about.

  “All right.” Hammon flipped open a leather portfolio and began the meeting. They had a lot to discuss, but somehow, he knew all the men were bothered by the fact Xavier hit him.

  Surely they all thought him the weakest link for not fighting back physically. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have hit his father with the same burst of anger. No. He couldn’t think like that. Hitting his father would have brought him down to the same level of disgrace. Instead, Dante had been the bigger man and walked away from Xavier’s childish tantrum. Besides, his father was a seasoned warrior. A physical altercation would mean little to him. Being outranked by his disappointing son hurt him far worse.

  The Elites would see it that way. He hoped.

  Finally, he thought, relieved when the meeting concluded an hour later. His face hurt, not that he would whine about it. He stood to leave, but Hammon asked him to sit at the head of the table. None of the others had risen from their chairs.

  “Sir?”

  Hammon touched a button on the intercom system and paged General Xavier.

  Dear gods of Olympian. “Sir, I have to ask that you let me fight this battle on my own. He is my father and I will deal with him.”

  “No,” Hammon answered abruptly, cutting off any arguments.

  “You are Elite,” Cutter explained, his Chinese accent punctuating each staccato word. “As Elite, you are brother. There are no battles you fight alone.”

  “That’s right.” Brenden rose to his feet. “Xavier strikes you, he might as well have hit us all.”

  “He drew blood, Ken Doll. We can’t stand for someone to mess up that pretty face of yours.” Yankee came to stand by Brenden and patted Dante on the cheek…the injured one.

  Philippe motioned again for him to sit at the head of the table by slapping the back of the chair twice. “We cannot allow our loyalty to be questioned. He must be taught we are a united front; otherwise, he will see us as weak and others will follow.”

  “You know,” Yankee whispered to Philippe. “If you can speak English like that all the time, it would be polite.”

  Philippe turned away from Yankee and rattled off curses in Italian, causing everyone to chuckle.

  Hammon, Cutter, Philippe, Yankee, and Brenden formed a wall behind him. Even as dread rose in his gut, he was honored to have such men at his back.

  Xavier entered the room and his footsteps faltered when he saw the six men facing him.

  “Elites.” His jaw clenched and his chin tilted upwards.

  “General,” the Elites acknowledged as one.

  Hammon, their leader in Ryse’s absence, took point. “General, it has been brought to my attention that you have a problem with our squad.”

  “That was a private conversation.”

  No denial, Dante noted.

  “You made it public when you left your mark on the face of our brother,” Hammon said.

  “My son had no right to share details of our conversation.”

  Dante rose. “Oh, now I’m your son? Earlier, I was merely some soldier under your boot.”

  Xavier was about to argue when Hammon held up a hand to silence him, a move that caused the general to blanch. “Dante is one of us. He is no longer simply another solider. He is no longer merely your blood relative. He is a member of our ranks and we take any attacks as a group. You insult him, you insult us all. You strike him, you strike us all. His blood is our blood. This,” he pointed to Dante’s gash, “is unacceptable not only from one soldier to another, but from a father to a son. You shame yourself, general. Do not let it happen again, or we will have no choice but to show you how deep our loyalty to one another runs. Punishment shall be swift and blood will spill. You are dismissed.”

  Xavier practically had smoke coming out of his ears. He thought about arguing; Dante could see it in the way he opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. Instead, he bowed his head slightly and exited the room, shooting Dante a pointed glare before retreating.

  Dante released the breath he’d been holding and sat down, resting his elbows on the table. “This is going to make the holidays awkward.”

  Yankee threw back his head in laughter. The others joined him and, finally, Dante cracked a smile as his brothers slapped him on the back and shoulders.

  He’d never been more humbled. If he weren’t already d
evoted to the Elites and to Master Ryse, that display of solidarity and brotherhood would have sealed the deal.

  ***

  RYSE BARRELED DOWN the hall, Ashton following in his wake. He had things to do and Ashton’s petty issues were inconsequential at the moment. Again, his head hummed in Ashton’s presence. What caused that?

  “I don’t appreciate your thugs trying to intimidate my general.”

  “I’d be careful of your vocabulary, Prince Ashton. My Elites are rather touchy today, and possessive.” He kept walking so Ashton couldn’t see the smile on his face. The way his men had handled Xavier was no less than he expected and he was damned proud.

  “This is no joke, Ryse. Those men have no right to speak to a general in such a manner.”

  Ryse turned, nearly causing Ashton to run into him. His Thracian blood made him at least six inches taller than the other prince. “They have every right. They protect their own. I’m sure you understand that after my father’s murder, we have closed ranks and will tolerate no threats, no matter how small.”

  Before either of them spoke again, they were knocked back against the wall with a blast of power coming from an aura so violent it could only be from one of the gods. Ryse ran to the epicenter of the blast, uncaring of what Ashton did.

  Everyone in the palace made their way outdoors, where a crowd gathered. No one could defy the electric force pulling them to one place.

  In the middle of the crowd stood Hermes. His aura was a beacon, signaling all the Olympians in the Haven to his location. The people knelt at his feet, awaiting him to speak. Hermes met Ryse’s stare. His eyes glowed with the white light of the gods, his robes fell in sheets of white and purple to his winged feet. An outstretched hand beckoned Ryse forward, then he reached out to call Charles.

  Sons of Zeus, he spoke in their heads. The gods did not need to use mortal words. Thou art summoned by the gods of Olympia. I shall take you unto the council. Gather the guilty, prepare your households, for all kings of this mortal realm shall gather. There is another who must accompany you. The second son shall answer to Zeus.

  Ryse looked around to see Hayden, wide-eyed and searching for his brother. Ryse shook his head slightly. It was not wise to show fear in front of the gods, especially one as cunning and deceptive as Hermes.